


MAG XXX - Brood

by cupofcoffin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Worms, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Forced Orgasm, Formicophilia, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Parasites, Public Masturbation, Spontaneous Orgasm, and now you do too, clitoral growth, not canon-typical horniness of worm content, uhhh it is mostly consensual except for the fact that poor Jon has to read this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofcoffin/pseuds/cupofcoffin
Summary: Case #0182402. Statement of Fiona Patolo, regarding a... a series of spontaneous orgasms and their anteceding... infection. Original statement given remotely February 24th, 2018. Original recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.
Relationships: Original character/The Corruption
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	MAG XXX - Brood

**Author's Note:**

> I am. So sorry. I wish I could tell you that this work isn’t representative of who I am as a person.

Erotic statements: do not archive.

ARCHIVIST

Case #0182402. Statement of Fiona Patolo, regarding a...

_[disgusted groan]_

... a series of spontaneous orgasms and their anteceding... infection. Original statement given remotely February 24th, 2018. Original recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.

“I am a, uh, a sex educator, actually. I don’t work at a school, or anything, but I work in a well-respected adult shop and often get called in to teach classes, give lectures, that kind of thing. It’s honestly one of the most positive work environments I’ve ever been a part of, and I’ve learned a lot over the last four years. I... this, of course, wasn’t... wasn’t among that lot.

Now, to be clear, I don’t think it was an STI or anything like that. At least, I certainly couldn’t name anybody I’ve slept with who seemed to be having the same... issue.

I was actually at work the first time it happened. We’d just recently opened up a second location in Archway and I was staying late closing, trying to figure out exactly how we wanted everything to get put away in the new space. It started out as just this weird, tense feeling in the base of my gut. At first I thought it was just cramps, or maybe I was starting to get sick, but I was close to done and it honestly wasn’t concerning.

It didn’t go away as I worked, instead it settled into a warm, hungry ache in my core. It didn’t feel bad, really, but it was becoming more and more prominent, and difficult to ignore. I couldn’t call it a “familiar” feeling, really, but it was when my muscles started to spasm that I recognized what was happening. I managed to brace myself against the counter I’d been cleaning just in time before my knees gave out below me. A sharp heat pulsed between my legs, making my skin crawl, and I clenched my jaw hard to strangle a surprised cry. I felt... I felt fluid saturate my underwear as my muscles convulsed, and I realized with a burning embarrassment that, when my legs gave out, I’d come down on the corner of a display table and had begun to grind down onto it. I lifted myself up with one arm, the other dipping down into my leggings to check the damage. I was soaked, and a small slick spot had seeped through the fabric, although it was almost completely invisible. I was mortified, not to mention sore, and my wet underwear was already growing uncomfortably cold against the heat of my skin. I cleaned the display again where I’d rested myself, then quickly took my things and went home.

Honestly, I wanted to ignore it? I’d never heard of it happening, but the philosophy in my line of work is generally that everyone’s body is unique, and sometimes they do weird things, and that that’s usually perfectly okay unless it’s hurting or causing distress. I was... distressed, but basically just embarrassed, and it was obviously... not an unpleasant experience, objectively. I actually, ah, _revisited_ the memory a couple of times over the next few days. It fascinated me, what had happened, and my subsequent orgasms had gotten more intense since the incident.

The next time, I was driving. I felt my muscles tense again in that same way that I’d found my mind drifting back to over the preceding days. It was the middle of the day, but I was driving in the country and managed to pull over to the side of the road without trouble. I didn’t even touch myself, didn’t even think to; I just parked shakily and white-knuckled my steering wheel as I felt my legs start to shake and my gut begin to wrench. I threw my head back and let out a moan — I still felt self-conscious, of course, but this time I at least was sure that nobody would be walking in on me. Underlining the whole experience was this sharp, hot desperation, localized in my clit. I guess I could say that, yes, it did hurt, but so did my abdominal muscles as they clenched and unclenches rapidly, and so did my lip when I bit down hard on it instinctively as another car sped past. That pain was, in a way, part of it, and not even in a masochistic sense. I came for a long time, wave after wave of this taut, writhing heat. If my head had been clearer, I think I would have worried. My clit felt like it was going to burst, like it was full of some tiny buzzing that I had no control over. It felt amazing, and when the feeling finally subsided it took me another several long minutes before I felt like I could pull back onto the road and get home.

I did research at that point, of course. The internet had all kinds of information on why I might be having these episodes, what kinds of cysts or trauma or blooming disorders I might be riding the effects of. It concerned me, obviously, and I called my OBGYN to set up an appointment. I just had to wait through a couple more days.

Almost immediately after I hung up, I felt something new. A jolt of pain shocked my clit, too sudden and unprovoked to read as arousal like before. In a flash, the pain subsided, leaving only a dull throbbing in its place. It scared me a little, honestly, and left me so sensitive that I doubled over when the front seam of my jeans rubbed up against me wrong. I stripped out of my clothes to relieve the pain and sat back in my armchair. Gently, experimentally, I rubbed my clit soothingly and found myself, physically speaking, more aroused than I’d ever been before, alone or with a partner. It... wasn’t long before experimental brushes gave way to full, passionate pinching and tugging. I know that the clitoris is more-or-less analogous to the phallus, but I’d never really considered jacking it off before, in no small part due to the size difference. But like this, swollen and erect, I understood the similarities in shocking detail. Another jolt of pain shot through me, then another, each making my legs cramp up and my head spin. I came, then again, and again. My hand gave out before my clit did, and ultimately I ended up just sprawled half naked, fucking myself simply by means of my involuntarily convulsing muscles. My clit twitched wildly, like something was still controlling its jerky, desperate motions. In a haze, I wondered if it would ever stop. I felt myself go lightheaded, and looked down. Just barely, past my pubic mound, I could see the head of my clitoris bobbing sporadically. My stomach turned with fatigue, and I could feel numbness creeping up my legs as I came, and came, and came.

I must have fallen asleep like that, because when I woke up again it was dark out, and I was laying in my sopping armchair. The arousal had subsided, but looking down again I could see that my clit was still distended and swollen. It looked almost bruised, a pearly purple tone to it that made me feel a little ill. I give it a tentative stroke, and it shuddered a little in response, but it didn’t feel like I was going to enter into another sex-trance immediately. Like it was asleep. I put on a loose pair of boxers and curled up into a ball in my bed.

When I woke again in the morning, the thin cotton boxers were soaked and cold, and I could feel the tingling ache again, signaling that another orgasm was impending. Groggily, I gave myself a tentative stroke through the fabric. I could... I could feel my clitoris, but it felt wrong. I... I mean usually I can’t feel it at all, is the thing. Even when aroused, I shouldn’t have been able to _feel_ my hard clit sticking out from my body, hot and swollen. I took my underwear off in a frenzy, half-panicked and half-desperate to cum. Looking at it, it wasn’t actually that big, around the size of the last segment of my finger, but it was seriously bigger than any clitoris I’d seen on someone who wasn’t taking testosterone. It did remind me a bit of a T-dick, actually, but those develop over time — this was overnight! And it maintained that sickly grey-purple color, glinting silvery in the morning light.

I pinched it lightly, and it bobbed delightedly in response. It felt like it was purring, it felt so good. I fumbled for a vibrator and held it delicately against my clit, and presses gently on the outside of my lips to massage the internal erectile tissue. I caved to my own touch, and again was overtaken by a cavernous warmth and a crawling sensation all over my skin. I writhed under the soft, buzzing pressure of the vibrator, and my clit felt like it was pressed hard against something hot. I bucked my hips and gasped, I needed to cum like my life depended on it. The sheets under me were drenched, and I felt like I could explode at any second. I felt like I was drowning in pleasure, I didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to ever stop feeling it. How could anything be wrong about it? This was simply my body now. I didn’t have to try to cure myself of something that caused only pleasure. I loved this. I loved what my body was doing for me, how it was changing to bring me the most pleasure it possibly could. I loved my body for what it was giving me.

Eventually my vision went white. I couldn’t even describe what I felt as pain or pleasure anymore — my body ached and squirmed and crawled and convulsed. And then, I did cum. A bone-deep shiver ran up my body and I gasped loudly, almost certainly loud enough that my neighbors would have heard and complained. The orgasm was so intense that I had no option but to curl onto my side, thighs wrapped around the vibrator and hips bucking weakly as I rode the long waves of pleasure. It was showing no signs of stopping, not after one minute, not after another. I was just beginning to lose track of time when I felt thick, slimy fluid start to gush from me onto my hands and sheets. It felt different from the slick cum that now coated my inner thighs and down my butt. I dropped the vibrator and gave one last great convulsion, spreading my legs and bucking my hips blindly against my hands. I cried out as the orgasm finally died, which came out sounding more than a little like sobs. Before my final moan had even died, I looked down.

I screamed.

All over my hands, all over my bed, and all over my legs and lap, were hundreds — thousands, maybe — of little silver worms. I froze, and under them, under my skin, I felt something coil and slither. And parting the membrane of oily, writhing grubs, there was my clitoris, poking out from the top of my still-rosy lips. It curled and pulsed with life, now almost the shape and size of a grape. In horror, I strained to get a better look... and then it strained back, curling up to look at me. For the first time, I saw her face — a tiny thing, with beady, oily eyes and pale, glinting mandibles. Below them, several chittering black legs. I had to fight the urge to faint, or vomit.

And yet, at the same time, there was another feeling. A feeling of gratitude, serenity, and pleasure. Soft pleasure: a bubbling warmth in my gut that just felt... felt good. Physically I felt amazing. My brain was buzzing with terror, telling me that something was horribly, horribly wrong, but there was nothing in my body that wanted to run, wanted to rush to the hospital or burn my mattress. It was like two different minds in me, one full of visceral disgust, the other full only of love and contentment. I was in love with my body, and she with me.

Eventually I did faint. I guess I couldn’t bring myself to move and crush the worms, but eventually my body gave in to the fear. When I woke, the worms were gone. My clit wasn’t quite as swollen and distended, but still sensitive and discolored. I called my OBGYN and told them to cancel the appointment, that everything was actually just fine. Just as it should be. The fear hadn’t gone away, and neither, it turned out, had the spontaneous orgasms or the occasional hyper-arousal. I could go to work still, just with a few more frequent breaks when I feel the pressure building. Still, every once in a while I catch glimpses of the worms, and my symptoms are getting more intense again. When I press against the internal clitoris, on either side, I can feel her moving and pulsing. Those dark needle-legs. I can feel it coming again, the coiling deep in my gut is becoming more pronounced. Like she’s talking to me, somehow, like two parts of the same mind.

I guess I... I want to believe it isn’t a medical problem? I want to believe I’m just falling into erotic delusions, or I’m possessed by a succubus, or something. As terrified as I am, I don’t want to be separated from this thing that I love. I can feel the pressure building again, even now... another brood on the way. Is it a parasite? I mean, it must be. My clit didn’t just magically turn into a fat silver grub of its own accord. But she feels like she’s a part of me, regardless. A new part of my body, my _self_ , for me to love.”

_[A very long pause. What the fuck.]_

Statement... statement ends. Good lord, I... I didn’t like that. I don’t like... the implications of that. Uh, this statement was given via email, following new archival procedures regarding mention of worms, although it would appear that Miss Patolo had to excuse herself multiple times during the process of recording her statement. I don’t... I don’t like that I know that. I’m... trying not to know more. She’s proven difficult to contact. Her phone number has been disconnected, and she hasn’t answered any follow-up emails. Management at The Spectrum, her place of employment, says she still works there, though she’s called out sick for several days in a row.

Uh, this is obviously connected to the Prentiss case — the shop in question has, in fact, opened up in the storefront left by the metaphysical shop, Good Energies. This is... deeply concerning. If the worms left behind by the early-infection stages of the condition can... colonize in this manner... well. We’ll be looking into quarantining measures of the storefront and surrounding plaza, but... it doesn’t look good. Eugh.

_[he retches a little. Then, with an edge of dark humor,]_

I will say I’ve... never been more grateful to be asexual. Not really worth gloating, though, I suppose. Although, I will say that this has put me fully off of wanting anything to do with... anything for... for the foreseeable future.

Statement ends.


End file.
